Wednesday, 23 November 2016

‘Miss Robin
Hood’ (1952) was made for the Margaret Rutherford fan. She’s as dotty as
anything and it’s an utter delight. She is wonderfully supported by Sid James
as her taxi driving chauffeur with a penchant for knitting. And I must also
mention Dora Bryan as the barmaid, who isn’t in it nearly enough. I always seem
to say this about Dora (with ‘A Taste of Honey’ as the exception) – she always
leaves us wanting more of her.

The co-star of
the film though is Richard Hearne, who I was hitherto unfamiliar with, but
apparently he was famous at the time for a character called Mr Pastry. He is
well casted, and frankly he is the only believable element of this film. It is
fantasy, but a delicious one that you want to repeatedly get lost in. Hearne
plays Mr Wrigley, a writer and editor of a childrens’ newspaper. He is most famous
for his series of stories about ‘Miss Robin Hood’ – a thieving schoolgirl who
is carrying out her own version of justice. Meanwhile, Miss Honey (Rutherford) wishes to secure
a secret drink recipe from James Robertson Justice, whose Great Grandfather
stole it from hers. Being a child-like creature, she railroads Wrigley into
assisting her in this, believing that the creator of Miss Robin Hood must be a
crime expert. As you can imagine, all
sorts of incidents follow on and Wrigley ends up resigning from his post.

But there is a
happy ending, of course. And as Wrigley is persuaded to take his job back he is
reminded that Conan-Doyle will always be remembered for his series of stories
in a newspaper. This is where our history comes in. Think too, of Charles
Dickens, whose stories were also serialised before becoming novels. And then
there is the wartime film ‘Mrs Miniver’ – a fictional newspaper column by Jan
Struther brought to life on screen.

That kind of
opening for writers seems to have been killed off. But what better way to sell
the product of an ailing industry but to publish gripping serial stories in
them? And what an opening for aspiring authors too. Newspaper editors! What
have you done? I don’t want soap star gossip! I want a good old fashioned yarn.
Just like ‘Miss Robin Hood.’

Monday, 7 November 2016

‘Child in the
House’ (1956) has a fine cast. The child star of the title is Mandy Miller, who
so memorably played a deaf child in the film that shared her name. Meanwhile,
she is supported by Stanley Baker, Eric Portman, Dora Bryan and Phyllis
Calvert. There are also tiny roles for
Alfie Bass and Joan Hickson. This roll call alone is enough to send me running
to see this film.

Young Elizabeth
(Mandy) is sent to live with her aunt and uncle (Phyllis and Eric) when her
mother is taken into hospital. Meanwhile, her father (Stanley) is on the run
from the law for being a wrong ‘un where money is concerned. It’s all
heart-wrenching stuff, only lightened by the presence of the huge-hearted maid
(Dora).

What I found
most interesting about this film was Phyllis’ role as the aunt. The story opens
with her going to collect Elizabeth from Victoria station and we are treated to
an excruciating first meeting between the pair. It is obvious from the outset
that the aunt has no experience of children and is quite nervous at the
prospect of taking care of her niece. It is one of those scenes that is tense
to watch and although you want to give her a bit of a talking-to, you can find
sympathy for her at being thrust into this unexpected situation.

They arrive
home, and luckily for Elizabeth, it turns out that her uncle is a thoroughly
nice chap who does know that you can carry on being yourself when a youngster
is present, and not have to put on a tense smile the whole time. As the film
progresses, you can see them build a rapport. But the aunt’s attitude to
Elizabeth spirals downwards, as she is unable to understand the child and
therefore handle her. She resorts to shouting and sanctioning. Finally, at a
high point of tension, the uncle turns on the aunt, accusing her of marrying
him for his prospects while secretly being in love with Elizabeth’s feckless
father. It emerges that she has forced him to live in a “loveless home”. The
implication here is that she cares only for status and refused to give her
husband any children. She is a cold, hard-hearted cow. Just to round off the
portrayal of a monster, she breaks the child’s beloved musical handbag.

Clearly,
Phyllis’ character is a monster simply because she has no children. Her state
is unnatural and she deserves to be vilified. That is the message that I took
from this film role. What’s worse, we are forced into feeling sympathy for the
criminal father because he is a father and he loves his child. So that’s
alright then; basically he is a sound human being even if he is a thief and
confidence trickster. Unlike her, the barren-wombed harpie.

What we are
seeing here is a society that placed huge importance on parenthood. After World
War Two, the government wanted women to desert the freedom of the workplace and
become mothers, thus opening jobs up to returning servicemen and pushing up
population numbers, decimated over two generations by bombs and guns. To not
produce children meant that you were either a sad lost cause or a nasty piece
of work. Because of this, the film gets away with this one-dimensioned
portrayal of a woman. It is never explained why she remained childless, we are
merely invited to condemn. Being a woman in the 1950s was really not all it’s
cracked up to be. It is still an issue that has not been satisfactorily
resolved.

I reflected how
relatively quickly some things can change. There is a growing movement that is
calling for action on population. If global population numbers do not slow down
or reverse, one day soon we are all going to be in trouble in terms of
resources available. Wouldn’t it be interesting if society and culture began to
actively frown upon families with more than one child? One hundred years on
from the date of this film, maybe Phyllis’ character and real women like her
will be seen as saints...

Friday, 28 October 2016

I’ve
just released a new book which sums up all I have explored while writing this
blog. Here’s the blurb:

The
History Usherette's popular blog looks at what British Cinema can tell us about
our social history. This is a summary of how trends in cinema from the 1930s to
the 1970s show us what was happening to the British people, and what they
wanted to see on screen. It is a starting point for the student of 20th Century
British Social History who would like to use cinema as a resource - or a
reminder of the Saturday afternoon matinee for those of a certain age...
The chapters are separated out as follows:
1. 1930s - the early talkies and the music hall hangover
2. Wartime - propaganda and escapism
3. Post war- the heyday of our films and screen stars
4. Permissive society - the rise of the 'kitchen sink drama'
5. Television on film- the last desperate gasp
Each of the first four chapters is followed by a spotlight feature on a
particular aspect of that period.
A bibliography and a calendar of births, deaths and releases finishes the book
off, while pencil portraits of the stars enhance the text.

And
here’s a couple of extracts:

(Signs of the Times) Part 1 – Leisure

In the 1930s,
leisure time became an important issue for workers. They were tired out – and World War One had
woken people up to the fact that life was all too short. In 1933, the Mass Trespass on Kinder Scout in
Derbyshire highlighted the desperate need for industrial city dwellers to get
out into the fresh air. Throughout the
decade, trade unions lobbied for holidays with pay, leading to a government act
in 1938. How people spent leisure time
varied according to taste – but of course films reflected popular pastimes of
the age. Mention must be made first of
the documentary “Spare Time” (1939) made by Humphrey Jennings, which deliberately
shows working people at their rest. This is a must-see if your intention is to
explore this subject further. But there is also plenty to be gleaned as
incidental parts of the plot in entertainments.
A trip to the seaside resort is of course the main reason why people
wanted holidays with pay. Gracie Fields’
‘Sing As We Go’ (1934) provides us with a good opportunity to see the resort of
Blackpool at the height of its popularity. Meanwhile, in ‘No Limit’ (1935) we
take an excursion to the Isle of Man with George Formby. The sea crossing,
B&B hotels and seaside entertainments take their place alongside the TT
races.

***

Ealing Studios
soon became rather good at delivering a more subtle commentary on the times
too. Gentle satire on those in power can be picked out of many of the films.
For example, ‘Kind Hearts and Coronets’ (1949) ties in well with the social
levelling policies of the post war government, as Dennis Price’s character
single-handedly strikes off members of an aristocratic family. ‘The Man in the
White Suit’ (1951) shows a foolish commerce industry triumphing over science,
coinciding with a brain drain as the best British brains were being forced
overseas to find work.

‘The Titfield
Thunderbolt’ (1953) meanwhile appears in retrospect to give an uncanny
prediction of the future. Mass closure of branch railway lines was a decade
away, but this depicts the closure of one village’s line – and it being started
up again by volunteers. Community
transport services run by volunteers has become a reality in many places.

With
illustrations by the usherette’s artist in residence, Howard Taylor, why not take
a quick trip into the projector room with us…

Wednesday, 12 October 2016

‘The Lamp Still
Burns’ (1943) is a wartime nursing drama, based on a book by Monica Dickens. It
stars Rosamund John and Stewart Granger – although I particularly enjoyed
seeing John Laurie and Joyce Grenfell in smaller roles.

The whole point
of the film is to show how the nursing profession was in need of an overhaul at
that point in time. Back then, becoming a nurse was a lifetime commitment –
almost akin to becoming a nun. Discipline and order were demanded and there was
no time for life outside the hospital. Marriage and children were seen as
impossible for a working nurse. Hospitals therefore struggled to recruit and
retain nursing staff. As we now know, change did eventually take place. Some might argue that we have gone too far
the other way and we should re-introduce matrons and their disciplinarian ways.
The matron in this film (Cathleen Nesbitt) was shown in rather a good light – I wouldn’t argue
with her (or Hattie Jacques’ matron!) being in charge of a hospital. So perhaps
there is something in this argument, but not being a medical professional I
cannot comment further.

The other
location in ‘The Lamp Still Burns’ is a factory, which is being run by Stewart
Granger’s character. Our heroine trainee nurse (John) starts the film as an
architect, who argues with Granger about the need for a larger medical room at
the workplace. The factory is indeed the site of first one accident (which John
attends at the beginning of her studies) then later on an explosion, when Granger is severely injured. This
chimes in with something that I recently learned from talking to someone who
was employed at the railway works in Derby during the 1950s and 1960s. He told
me that it was such a dangerous place to work that there were doctors and
nurses permanently on site – and a works ambulance. Granger’s medical room also
got a lot of use. This film didn’t comment on that aspect – where
employers fully expected workers to get injured or sick at work and quite often
because of it.

We still have
much to complain about – but at least we now have health and safety at work
legislation to protect us from being killed or maimed at our jobs. For now, anyway...

Saturday, 17 September 2016

In recent
times I’ve been trying to trace the life of Thorley Walters. I started by
tracking his family tree to see if we are related. He was born in Devon and my
Walters ancestors are all from Somerset and Devon; so I thought there may be a chance
that I shared some DNA with someone who had worked at the Old Vic under Lilian
Baylis, appeared in St Trinian’s films AND was a Hammer regular. Alas I found
nothing definite, although it turned out that his grandparents had been married
in the next village along from where my bunch were living…so I cling to this in
the hope that it shows that there MUST be a diluted connection somewhere.
Surely there weren’t that many Walters families living in Somerset at this
point.

Youthful Thorley

Anyway, then I
moved onto Thorley’s career and discovered that after his spell at the Old Vic
in the early1930s, he moved into film roles – though only in a
“blink-and-you’ll-miss-him” way. His very first film was the 1935 quota quickie
‘The Love Test’. I was interested to see this because for one thing it
co-starred my fave Googie Withers; and it was directed by William Powell before
his partnership with Emeric Pressburger. Finally, someone shared this film onto
You Tube and I was able to see it.

Thorley has a
role as a chemist who is working away in the background and I only got a
definite sighting of him in the very final scene. The story involves these chemists seeking a
formula to prevent celluloid from bursting into flames (with a bit of romantic
shenanigans thrown in). This is an interesting piece of history – and one that
relates to cinema itself. Celluloid was a widely used material – in the film
they are carrying out tests on dolls made from the substance – a hideous and
astonishing thought that children’s health was put at risk in this way.
However, in 1929, just six years before this film was made, 70 children were
killed at a cinema in Paisley. The cause of the disaster was celluloid film,
which has begun smoking in the projection room after being placed on top of a
battery. The combination of fumes and crush led to the horrible tragedy. But
many ordinary household and personal items were also made from it – including
jewellery and cutlery handles. And what with the prevalence of open fires back
then it must have been the cause of several accidents in the home.

The search for
a non-combustable material to replace celluloid must have kept many chemists
busy. This is something that we have forgotten now…but I don’t think we should.
So many of us collect old artefacts from the 1920s and 30s – we perhaps need to
bear this danger in mind before putting our prized collections on display in
our homes, or wearing the jewellery.

Monday, 22 August 2016

‘When the Bough
Breaks’ (1947) stars Patricia Roc and Bill Owen. A strange combination at a
cursory glance – especially as they end up married – but it works!I thought that this was the best new-to-me
film that I had seen in a long time. I don’t know if this is because it just
caught me in the right mood, or if it is a half-forgotten treasure. It is an
all-out weepy and I felt much better for getting into the spirit of the thing.

The storyline
can be roughly sketched out as follows. Patricia’s character (Lily) has a baby
and immediately discovers that her husband is a bigamist. She tries to bring
her baby up alone but she struggles – as you would in those days. A posh lady
at the nursery takes a shine to her son and at a particularly low point, Lily
allows her to informally adopt him. Fast forward a few years and Lily has a
good job in a department store. She goes on holiday to Butlin’s and meets the
adoring and persistent Bill (Bill Owen). I was gratified to see that they met
in the typical 1940s matchmaking dance, also used to good advantage in
‘Millions Like Us’. All the women form a circle, all the men form a circle
facing them, and they do a big opposite directions ring-a-ring-a-roses until
the music stops (‘Here We Go Round the Mulberry Bush’). A quaint way of meeting
new people that I regret the loss of. Also gratifying is the presence of Leslie
Dwyer at the holiday camp – he went on to become the grumpy Punch and Judy man
in ‘Hi-di-Hi’.

Lily says that
she can’t marry Bill but won’t tell him why (Oh the melodrama! I lapped this
up!). Eventually, he prises her past out of her, and being a thoroughly good
egg he still wants to marry her and at last she becomes chatelaine of his
corner shop in Streatham. Settled – but with no babies forthcoming from Bill –
she seeks out her son, now eight years old. She gets him back – but it is no
good, she and her son are strangers. She hands him back to his adoptive
parents.

Perhaps one of
the reasons why I identified so much with this film is because I identified
with Lily’s struggles with her new born baby. Being alone in the world and
refusing to receive any support from her bigamist husband meant that she had to
go to work. After a period of standing at a perfume counter all day and pacing
up and down with a crying baby all night, she finally collapses. This is rather
melodramatic to our eyes perhaps – but to be a working mother was much more
unusual and therefore open to interpretation in the late 1940s. Women were
expected to give up jobs to returning servicemen and dedicate their existences
to delivering the baby boom. Yet even in wartime, mothers of young children
were not conscripted into jobs.

I found myself
going back to work too soon after the birth of my first child. Financial need
dictated this. I had a traumatic caesarean in October and was back at work
after Christmas, my daughter going to a day nursery. She was a difficult baby –
I called her Lucifer because she screamed all night and slept all day and it
seemed that nothing would persuade her to review her hours of business. I have
a vivid memory of sitting at the top of the stairs weeping in utter misery
because she’d cried all night and I had to be at work in three hours. Yet the
nursery staff thought she was a delight – just like in the film. I fantasised
about running away…and I sometimes worry that if I did not have support from
others then I might have done something regrettable.

What is identified as being suitable melodrama material here is
now normal everyday life for most of us. My story is not unusual, there are thousands of
others out there with similar experiences. But I wonder, do we choose to live
like this or has it been forced upon us? Mothers of babies are now expected to
work, both by society and the government.
The cost of living is such that one wage per household is not enough –
recent statistics showed that a large proportion of households claiming Housing
Benefit do have a member in employment. To have to live on one wage leads to
reliance on expensive credit and potentially damages the life chances of the
children. Some mothers enjoy working though and are glad to keep an identity
other than ‘Mummy’. Some hate and it and resent how it exhausts them and means
that they cannot be there when their babies are learning to walk and talk. Personally I felt a mixture of both. And as I
said above, not even Winston Churchill expected young mothers to go to work in
Britain’s darkest hour. What a conundrum this is.

But at least we
are not in fear of being morally judged when we have been left in the lurch by
the fathers of our babies (not to say that people don’t judge – but we are more
able to ignore it). For this reason alone, perhaps we have made some progress.
It just doesn’t feel like it at times.

Joyce Grenfell died in 1979, just before she was due
to become Dame Joyce Grenfell. But she is by no means forgotten, indeed she is
thought of fondly by many of us who are too young to have been aware of her
during her lifetime. It is interesting to think about the reasons for this,
when many of her contemporaries are becoming more obscure as time passes.

The two roles that she is most fondly remembered for
are Policewoman Ruby Gates in the St Trinian’s films; and the harassed nursery
school teacher as portrayed in her monologues. Mention Joyce’s
name to a lot of people and they will smile and reply “George, don’t do that!”
These characters have similarities – at first glance they are failures. Ruby
fails to secure marriage with her long-term fiancé Sammy and she is hopeless at
controlling the school girls while masquerading as a games mistress. The
nursery school teacher loves children but it is not returned in the fashion
that she probably envisaged. But, we British love an underdog, especially one
that perseveres to the point of insanity. Of course it helps when they have a
hilarious turn of phrase too. We adore Joyce as a character that has been lost
to progress, to dumbing down and mass boorishness. She represents an England
that we feel we have left behind.

But Joyce herself was half American and she was no
underdog. The world that she represents to many of us did not exist in the pure
form that we sometimes imagine either.

In my blog, The History Usherette, I look at
nostalgic films and try to pick out pieces of real history. This history is
often not as rose-tinted as we would like it to be. I have applied this thought
to this collection of short stories. Each is inspired by a piece of Joyce’s
work, they run in chronological order from the 1930s to the 1970s. I hope – and
I think that Joyce might approve of this – that this might encourage the reader
to appreciate some the progress that we have made in more recent decades. It is
fun to look back and think that maybe things were better. But they weren’t. Not
always.

Natures Gifts:

The original speaker of ‘Useful and Acceptable
Gifts’, first performed by Joyce in revue in the 1930s, is horrified to see
herself being parodied on stage.

Many women remained single into middle and old age
at this point in time due to the mass slaughter of young men in World War
One. Yet to be married and a mother was still looked upon as a woman’s
only natural calling. Those that tried to make themselves useful in other ways
were sometimes turned into figures of fun.

The Demi-Angel:

Upper class teenager Julia volunteers to help care
for wounded soldiers in 1943, going against her mother’s wishes. She is
inspired after watching Joyce in the film ‘The Demi Paradise’.

A rigid class system and narrow constraints for
women was to some extent broken down by World War Two. This is a look at how it
took death and injury on a mass scale to liberate those trapped at home as well
as those in the occupied territories.

Dear Miss Grenfell:

Old soldier Robert writes to Joyce to thank her for
cheering him up while she was touring with ENSA.

Like so many household names, it was this wartime
work that really helped to shape Joyce into the performer we so loved. It took
war to allow talent to shine through, and to introduce people to different
forms of culture.

Red Letter Day:

Old bachelor Jim is haunted by Joyce’s song ‘I’m
Going to See You Today.’

These 1940s lyrics paint a picture of a nation being
reunited again with loved ones. It might refer to short leaves from the
fighting, or to the post war homecoming. But the war took a huge toll on
British relationships. Divorce rates were hitherto unheard of, and this is only
the official picture. Some promised marriages didn’t happen; while some unhappy
marriages limped on to save face.

Oh Ruby!:

Billy’s mother discusses his decision to join the
police force.

We all love St Trinian’s, although I think it does
colour our perception of all-girl schools. Do we let what we see on screen
influence our lives too much? Are we losing the capability to make decisions
for ourselves?

Forgetting:

New husband Bob struggles to reconcile his views of
marriage with a society where women are newly liberated. He tries to take back
control, implementing a hare-brained scheme inspired by Joyce’s ‘forgetful
woman in church’ monologue.

The laws are in place, but male attitudes are too
often trailing behind. Even now, I wonder if we’ll ever get true equality.

Some Ladies Have to Dance Together:

A woman reflects on how she first hated, then loved
Joyce’s song ‘Stately as a Galleon.’

Another look at how girls are at the mercy of men’s
expectations, often rooted in their own base desires.

Retirement Time:

Joyce’s nursery teacher dedicated her life to her
job (although she often thought about a change of career, she could never quite
break away). But when she reaches a certain age she is forced to retire with no
other life to fill her days.

Extract from ‘Red Letter Day’:

He heard the song performed again about
a year later. He had listened to Bob Turner whistle it continually as he pinned
photographs of his trio of girlfriends onto the wall above his bunk. And then
it had played on the radio while he drunk his first beer on English soil. So,
from boarding the train to London on that day he remembered too well, the song
had been bumping around in his brain. The rhythm altered itself to fit the
dominant noise of the moment, whether it was the sound of the train wheels, or
the creaking of the carriage body as it pulled away from a platform. He caught
a tube train from Kings Cross to Waterloo. He thought he could hear the tune in
the wind as it rushed through the tunnels. She would be waiting for him at
Waterloo, under the clock, of course. He had told her every time that they had
met that this would be the place where it would all begin for them.

“We’ll put our name down for a prefab,
then get the marriage licence. When we’ve had our cup of tea and rock cake in
the buffet. First thing’s first.”

This refreshment had become their ritual
– at the beginning and end of each wartime liaison; a talisman. If they didn’t
have it, then perhaps one of them wouldn’t return for next time. It was silly,
they knew. But once the suggestion had been made it was difficult to let the
idea go. He had smiled about it as he climbed the stairs up from the tube
station onto the main concourse at Waterloo. This would be the last time. Now
he was home, it would be all house hunting and picnics by the Serpentine.

Thursday, 21 July 2016

‘Britannia of
Billingsgate’ (1933) was a lot more fun than I thought it was going to be.I have felt in the past that the earlier
films of the 1930s are a bit too naïve and clunky for my taste, but this one
proved me wrong.This is a very knowing
look at the early film industry itself, and I think that it is rather ahead of
its time.

It features
music hall star Violet Loraine as Bessie Bolton; while Bessie’s husband and
children are played by the now better known names of Gordon Harker, John Mills
and Kay Hammond. Bessie runs a fried
fish shop while her husband Bert works at nearby Billingsgate Market. Her
teenage son and daughter are both top-drawer dreamers. One wants to be a speedway star and the other
wants to marry a heartthrob actor. When
an Italian film director is filming a new picture nearby, he accidentally
stumbles across Bessie and her fabulous singing voice. Spurred on by Bert and
the pound signs popping out of his eyeballs, Bessie reluctantly agrees to make
a picture and the family are suddenly elevated to a new position in life.

Bessie’s
character would appear to be based wholly on Gracie Fields – the part could
have been written for her (and the surname Bolton adds to my suspicions here,
what with the Lancashire connection…) In fact, I would say that the film rather
pokes fun at a perhaps already hackneyed concept of the ordinary woman turned
into an overnight star. Because, for Bessie, this isn’t a case of dreams coming
true. She is fair sick of it all very quickly – and the whole situation shows
her husband up as a very silly man. He is easily swayed by money and fame but
he is unable to handle himself. Bessie’s daughter’s actions are the most
telling. With access to money and the right people, she starts stalking her heartthrob.
She gets to meet him, finds out where he lives and sneaks into his bedroom one
evening to wait for him. This results in
the very memorable scene of Bessie giving her daughter a thoroughly and
deservedly smacked bottom. The filmstar heartthrob himself is aloof and
disgusted…and very probably gay.

This is a film
which looks at its own industry and seems to declare it as a load of old
bunkum. Already the trappings of fame that we associate with modern life are
being held up to ridicule. What with all
this and the Hammersmith Odeon and telephone booths complete with underground
posters, it is certainly worth a look. It is available free to view on the BFI
website here - http://player.bfi.org.uk/film/watch-britannia-of-billingsgate-1933/

Monday, 27 June 2016

I have started a
new Twitter account dedicated to the life and sayings of Joyce Grenfell
(@callmesossidge). This is partly to give me some inspiration as I write my next book of short stories, all of which will be inspired by Joyce's work.

One quote that I recently posted went as follows:

"Things
will never, can never, musn't ever be the same as they were before the
war."

Joyce wrote this
in a letter to her mother during the early years of World War Two, as part of
an observation about the British class system. She was not far off being a
member of the aristocracy herself. Her
aunt was Nancy Astor, MP and chatelaine of Cliveden and therefore a mover in
the highest of circles. At the time that she wrote the letter, Joyce lived in a
cottage on the Cliveden estate and often partook of her aunt’s
hospitality. She had also been a
debutante and name-dropped a lot of titled and high rolling people in her
letters and diaries. So, for her to say
this, tells me that there was widespread recognition of a need for change among
those with the power as well as those experiencing it for the first time as
part of the wartime social levelling.

Coincidentally,
a couple of weeks after I had posted and mused about this quote of hers, I
watched ‘The Guinea Pig’ – a film which tackles the notion at the very root.

This is a
Boulting Brothers film, which was released in 1948 and is based on a 1946
play. It stars a twenty-something
Richard Attenborough as a teenage school boy.
He plays an East End lad who is sent on a scholarship to a private
boarding school as part of a wider experiment. We follow his uncomfortable
transplantation from one environment to another very different one – and we
feel very sorry for him as he endures the snobbery, feudal customs and
loneliness. There is a scene where he tries to run away, then pours his heart
out to a sympathetic master. This is
deeply heart-wrenching and it is testament (not that one is needed) to
Attenborough’s talent.

With the
stoicism that you would expect of a 1940s EastEnder, the lad sticks it out and
eventually begins to make those who doubted the scheme to see the point of it. A
conversation between one of the old fashioned masters and the boy’s father
tells us all that we need to know. That this film is about the need for the
classes to mix and understand each other. We had so recently triumphed over a
common enemy…wasn’t it now time to give ourselves a common goal – to do the
best by our children. To not shut them away in compartments.

Attenborough by @aitchteee

I enjoy slipping
back into what was a very idealistic period of our history. I also relish
finding out what the Boultings made of it all. They took this one more
seriously than many other of the subjects that they tackled. Unfortunately, our society remains as class-ridden as ever....shame on us.

Wednesday, 1 June 2016

‘A French
Mistress’ is a Boulting film dating from 1960.It is not one of their better known ones, yet it is full of familiarity.
Cecil Parker, James Robertson Justice, Irene Handl and Thorley Walters fill the
screen with their usual personas. The scene is a private boys’ school – and on
the subject of familiar names and faces Michael Crawford is listed as being one
of the pupils. I have to say that I didn’t actually notice him while I was
watching.

Thorley Walters when he was little more than a school boy, thanks to Richard Hope-Hawkins from my Facebook page In Search of Thorley Walters

In some
respects, this is a fun film with a fair bit to recommend it – not least Irene
as the stressed school cook.But it is
also desperately old fashioned and, in my view, this overrides any sense of
nostalgia.The French Mistress of the
title is a 20-something Mademoiselle who takes up the vacant position of French
teacher at the school.The previous
incumbents of the post have all been sent galloping back home due to Irene’s
cooking, and Mlle Lafarge is consequently the only applicant for a job that has
become notorious. This causes all kinds of hoo-ha at the bastion of chauvenism
that is the 1950s/60s boys school.There
are only four female characters in total, and I thought that these served to
illustrate the four ages of woman as seen by the patriarchy at this time.

1)Totty.
(Agnes Laurent as Mlle Lafarge) The French mistress is 22 years old, is good to
look at and responds positively to romantic overtures.

2)Matron.
(Edith Sharpe as just Matron. She doesn’t even get the dignity of a name) The
school matron is caring, efficient and good in a domestic crisis. She no longer
regards her looks as important and concedes that she is not as good as category
1) anymore.

3)Widow.
(Irene Handl as Sgt Hodges) The cook is a widow who needs to work but finds the
whole thing a bit too much at ‘her time of life’.

4)Bitter
old hag. (Athene Seyler as Miss Peake) She has never married and is dependent
on her brother. This makes her
interfering and small minded.

Tuesday, 3 May 2016

If you are ever
in need of a cinematic example of how the British have a tendency to not take
themselves seriously, then ‘Man in the Moon’ is for you. This 1960 film stars
Kenneth More and Michael Hordern, among several others whose faces may be more
familiar than their names. The landscape too is one that you will recognise,
much of it being filmed in the Buckinghamshire villages around Pinewood.It is gently humorous - all in all very
comforting stuff.Well, to us British,
at any rate.I suspect a native of any
other country would be bemused and bewildered by the whole thing.

The premise is
that Britain needs an astronaut to enable us to win the space race. The men from the ministry are on the look-out
for a suitable victim to launch up to the moon. Kenneth More turns out to be
their perfect man. He has been earning a living selling his body to medical
research because he is seemingly incapable of developing a disease. They (and
we) first discover him at the common cold research establishment, being all
bouncy and chipper while all those around him wallow in mucus-induced misery.
He boasts that he survived everything that the School of Tropical Medicine
threw at him. He is lured to the space
centre, where he barely notices being thrust into extremes of temperature and
G-force.

More’s character
is the epitome of the British hero, as viewed from the first half of the 20th
Century. He all but stands with legs
wide apart, pipe sticking out from his jutting chin and his thumbs in his
tailored tweed suit. This in itself is probably a bit of gentle mockery of how
we used to be. But then of course it all
goes wrong. When they finally launch him
off to the moon, he ends up landing within a short distance from the Australian
launch pad. More goes back to the cold
research establishment, where the scientists continue to be generally baffled. The British, this film yells out, are clever
but rubbish at a lot of stuff.

Of course, we
know that the main two contenders in the space race were the USA and the
USSR. Two countries that take themselves
and their space very seriously indeed. I
suspect that if this film had been made and released in either of those
countries, there would have been an enquiry. Let’s face it, if a Russian had so
much as even thought up a storyline that mocked their comrades in this way,
Siberia would have beckoned. Would there have been demonstrations outside the
cinemas of small town America? Maybe. But not only did we make the film, we sat and
chuckled at it over our Kia-Oras and bars of fruit and nut.

I’m glad. Who
wants space hardware when you can have Kenneth More being thrown off an ejector
seat at full tilt. Marvellous.

Monday, 4 April 2016

In terms of its
storyline, ‘Interrupted Journey’ (1949) is possibly the worst film I have ever
seen. I can’t bring myself to describe it to you, it’s so laborious. It starts
off right enough, but towards the end, it really does go to pot. The film stars Valerie Hobson and Richard
Todd. Valerie is stunningly beautiful
throughout, but I’m afraid that this doesn’t rescue the utter shambles.

The one bright
moment is an appearance by Dora Bryan. She never puts in a bad performance and
I always like to see her. She plays a waitress in the Paddington Station
buffet, where she flogs Richard and his mistress a coffee and a rock cake each.
This was the end of Dora’s delightfully distracted cameo, and so there was no
more to do than to fall into a rock cake reverie. I began to wonder why the
rock cake is so ubiquitous in 1940s culture. Were there a plate of them on
offer in Joyce Carey’s ‘Brief Encounter’ buffet? I feel sure there must have
been. They certainly appear in my
favourite book ‘One Fine Day’ by Mollie Panter-Downes (1947). Here they are referred to as “rock keeks” by
the snooty bakery assistant – and this is how I always pronounce them to myself
after reading that (using Joyce Carey’s 1940s voice).

I followed up my
viewing of ‘Interrupted Journey’ with a baking session – having found a rock
keek recipe in my old 1950s Good Housekeeping cookbook. The recipe was simple:

7 oz Self
Raising Flour

3 oz Butter or
Marg

3oz Sugar

3oz Dried Mixed Fruit

Small egg

Drop of milk

Sprinkle of
nutmeg/mixed spice

Just mix it all
up, stick a few splats on a flat baking tray and shove them in a hot oven for
15 minutes.

Bit too much milk, should be a bit rockier shaped, but you get the idea

The verdict was
a good one.My notoriously picky
children, who drive me to distraction with their weird food attitudes (I’ve got
one that doesn’t like custard and ice cream, for pity’s sake), shovelled them
down like there was no tomorrow. I was able to take one to work for my morning snack for a few days after they were baked. They were so easy to make and they were plain
but filling. So I suppose that the answer to the question of why the rock cake
was a rationing era stalwart is as follows:

·Quick
and easy to do, no matter how long you’ve been awake fire-watching and queueing
for dried eggs you won’t go wrong.

·Low
on ingredients – nothing fancy. These
things are mostly flour and you can probably get away with dried egg and water
in them with enough flavouring

·They
can be shoved in the oven with something else and then last for quite a few
days afterwards (I made another batch that was still fine 3 days later)

I will be baking
more rock keeks. They are very suitable for our new modern day frugality.

***

Now that we've done baking I'd just like to carry on with the domestic goddess in a headscarf and curlers attitude. I've done a new book all about sewing with those iconic Sylko bobbins. You can buy it now on Amazon. Some very nice things have been said about it:

Saturday, 19 March 2016

‘The Small
Back Room’ (1949) is a Powell and Pressburger film, made in association with
Alexander Korda’s London Films. It has a marvellous pedigree – following on
from such Archers’ classics as ‘A Canterbury Tale’ and ‘Black Narcissus’, the
latter sharing Kathleen Byron and David Farrar in lead roles. There is a good solid supporting cast too,
including Cyril Cusack, Sid James and Jack Hawkins. A noir atmosphere
comfortably envelopes the viewer, the film wraps itself around you like a heavy
blanket.Then there is the Powell and
Pressburger attention to detail, the highlighting of sights, sounds or figures
of speech that really make their films come to life.My favourite thing in this film is towards
the end, when Farrar’s character has to go and diffuse a bomb on Chesil
Bank.The crunching of pebbles and
Farrar’s struggle to walk over them, coupled with the wheeling cries of the
gulls.This is a moment of bliss, this
juxtaposition of the mundane and the tension of a bomb that could blow at any
second. This is one fantastic film – so why isn’t it up there with ‘A
Canterbury Tale’ or ‘…Colonel Blimp’?

Although ‘The
Small Back Room’ was critically well received at the time, and the internet is
full of appreciative reviews, contemporary audiences didn’t take to it and it
flopped at the box office. The reason for this can only be that the subject
matter put people off from going to see it. Although filmed in 1949, the story
is set in 1943, and the back room in the title references so called “back room
boys.” It looks at the scientists
involved in the study and development of weaponry. One sub plot covers the
discussions around a new gun, while the main story involves Farrar’s character (Rice)
tackling a new, unknown bomb that has been appearing at various locations. The
serious tone is enhanced further by Rice suffering with his prosthetic foot and
battling with the only thing that really helps him to handle the pain – Whisky.
It seems that it is this that put people off – guns, bombs, bravery and
personal misery. When you’re only just getting over suffering the same thing
yourself, the last thing you want to see at the cinema is more of the same.

It perhaps
shows us an anomalous period in cinema. These days we can’t get enough of the
1940s. We will take any opportunity to
commemorate events from this period, and films and books from or covering this
era remain popular. When the war itself
raged, many films boosted morale by showing the British at their fighting best,
whether this be ‘In Which We Serve’ at
sea or ‘Millions Like Us’ in the factories. I think that if ‘The Small Back
Room’ had actually been released in 1943 it may well have fared a lot better as
a dramatic look at how our brave scientists were cleverer than the Nazi ones.
But instead, it was released when the wartime adrenaline had stopped pumping,
and we were left with piles of rubble and worse rationing than ever. If film
was to reference any of this, it had better be aimed at cheering people up.
Another 1949 film was ‘Passport to Pimlico’, a story about rationing that
delivered a humorous look at why we should continue to put up with it –
focusing on the end result. It was just
time to look forward and not back for a while.

Due to bad
timing alone, ‘The Small Back Room’ is a forgotten classic. Please revisit it
and give it a little love.

***

Visit my new History Usherette Spin off blog...looking at the acting profession in the 1940s and 1950s including a fictional account entitled "When Britannia Poked Her Trident."

Thursday, 25 February 2016

‘Vote for
Huggett’ (1949) picks up where ‘Here Come The Huggetts’ left off. Britain’s
favourite post war family are continuing to live happily in their suburban
semi.Mr Huggett (Jack Warner) has a
good job.Mrs Huggett (Kathleen
Harrison) continues to muddle her way cheerily through life, taking care and
pride in her family. The eldest daughter and the flighty niece (Diana Dors) are
married off.The second daughter is
gainfully employed and the baby of the family is still Petula Clark, thank goodness.

Before I go
any further, I must say how much I adore Kathleen Harrison in this film. As in
‘Here Come the Huggetts’ I believe that it is her talent rather than Jack’s
that carries the film. She is side-splitting, and as with any actress of her calibre
it is all done in a deceptively easy looking way. Just an expression at the
right moment is enough to set you off.
Just watch the scene with the knickers near the beginning.

Jack by @aitchteee

Kathleen by @aitchteee

‘Vote for
Huggett’ charts Mr Huggett’s foray into local politics. The adventure begins
with a simple letter. Mr H decides that he wishes to share his opinion that
their home town needs a lido (which they all pronounce “lee-doh” throughout –
is this an old way of pronounciation or have I been saying it wrong? I always
thought it was “lie-doh”) so he writes a letter to the local newspaper. They
publish it, and it all kicks off. The
whole town sees it and comments on it – to each member of the family. People
are in agreement, and the next thing you know, Mr H is being cajoled to stand
for councillor.

If you are
into politics, there is probably quite a lot of historical stuff that you could
get out of this. But the stand out thing
for me was the power of a letter to the local newspaper, and the numbers of
people who see it. Local papers are dying now.
We have seen them lose their grip in this generation. I used to buy them
– but I no longer see them as something worth spending so much money on. Prices have rocketed up and content has
shrunk – and we already know much of it anyway through various internet
portals. I even baulk at accessing the websites of our local papers – they are
so weighed down with the advertising that they need to cover their costs that
the pages take about a month to load and then jump all over the place. Local
papers are obviously fighting for life- and who would see a letter that was
printed in one these days?

In this
respect, this film is a hark back to slower times, when information trickled
out into the community rather than vomited a technicolour-headache- inducing
mix of rumours, gossip and incident.
There is no going back, except in a Huggett induced reverie.